


Riordan-verse Ficlets 2020

by ModernDayBard



Series: 2020 Ficlet Challenge [2]
Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Kane Chronicles - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Hugging, I will update tags as I write, beware the crafters, collection of oneshots, for one chapter, hey if it works, it went up on the day, little superstitions, magic shenanigans, ramble/musing, self-indulence, they work with sharp implements regularly, tricking yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernDayBard/pseuds/ModernDayBard
Summary: Challenge to myself: write at least (1) ficlet every week for the entire year. A handful of these were in the Percy Jackson/Kane Chronicles/Magnus Chase universe, because why not. Find them here!Percy Jackson/Heroes Of Olympus: Chapters 1 & 2Kane chronicles: Chapters 3 & 4Magnus Chase: Chapters 5 & 6
Relationships: Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang
Series: 2020 Ficlet Challenge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598794
Kudos: 18





	1. Hold Me Close

Why did it seem that the world considered a kiss to be far more romantic than a hug?

At least, movies and shows and books all seemed to equate a kiss with falling in love—or starting a relationship—or reuniting with a long-lost lover—or otherwise signaling the epitome of the expression of romantic love, while most hugs were usually glossed over and held little to none of the same import. If anything, embracing or hugging seemed relegated in media to platonic or familial relationships, the capstone there that kissing was for romantic love—not that non-romantic love was somehow lesser (except, apparently, to certain writers), but why, in that context, was a kiss seen as the ultimate expression of affection?

It didn’t make much sense to Hazel.

To be sure, she and Frank _did_ kiss, and it _was_ pretty great, but she felt far more loved when he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, a bubble of warmth and safety as his heartbeat resonated in her very bones, like the whole world had narrowed to the two of them, and he was _right there,_ and she didn’t have to wear any mask, fake any emotion, feign being anything other than who and what she was—he was holding _all_ of her, he _wanted_ all of her, and _all_ of her was safe with him: and what could be more romantic than that?

Well, maybe the times when he came to her, when he clung to her like she was his anchor, his grounding point, like her very presence, her touch, could keep his world—or himself—from falling apart; the times when _he_ could not pretend anymore, but knew that he never had to, with her; the times she could repay every time that _he’d_ been strong when _she_ was vulnerable.

And that was at the heart of it, really: vulnerability. Those were the times they were the most open, honest, and exposed with each other, because they trusted and _knew_ the other would honor that trust. Terrifying? Sure, but their entire relationship had been born from this same, stripped-bare, no-defenses-left vulnerability: she showed him her past, her deepest shame and regret, and he placed his literal lifeline in her care. Trust bred trust that grew to love, and nothing seemed to sum up the whole of what they’d become to each other than those embraces where they simply held each other.

Sometimes, a kiss just couldn’t compare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, a drabble of projection from an author who just needed a hug the day she wrote this, I guess. Others will be less…this, more story, in the future.


	2. Faith, Trust, And...

In hindsight, the nickname ‘Pixie Dust’ was practically inevitable.

After all, from the moment the newest (youngest) camper in Cabin 11 arrived, her Tinkerbell T-shirt and backpack (to say nothing of the matching, faded, well-loved sleeping bag and battered but beloved doll that she’d also managed to bring from home) made no secret of the seven-year-old girl’s obsession.

Still, even that would likely not have been enough to draw comments had it not been for the incident with the flying practice…

* * *

Now, winged shoes are a tricky mode of transport for anyone to master, even children of Hermes, and Cabin 11 is the only one to have added practice with them to the rotating roster of various training activities. Despite the tricky nature of the floating footwear, most children of Hermes manage at least a few seconds of sustained flight by the end of the first or second training session (there is, admittedly, no guarantee of further progress beyond—it really isn’t a practical mode of transport, but at this point, it’s tradition for Cabin 11, at least). However, the fairly fairy-focused first grader spent three sessions early in her first summer doing nothing but face-planting repeatedly.

The Stoll brothers did their best to quiet background snickers (seriously, she was a _kid_ , if she was in her teens it would be bad enough, but lay off the little one, okay?) and moved in to offer what advice and comfort they could, but though their little sister didn’t seem tearful as much as frustrated and she seemed at least to be trying to listen and follow instructions, nothing seemed to be working for her.

Still, she showed up to the first session the next week with a determined expression, her favorite t-shirt, and a tall pair of purple socks with a particular pixie printed on the back, a pair of fabric wings stitched in place on the back.

“So, you came prepared this time—winged socks for winged shoes?” Travis offered as she laced up the smallest pair of flying footwear they’d managed to find.

The little girl looked up with a gap-toothed grin. “Yep! Besides—a little fairy magic always makes everything okay!”

Pixie dust or a placebo—either way, she was done falling down, and actually grew pretty skilled with the shoes by summer’s end; and the nickname was thereby sealed.

* * *

(And, later that summer, when Travis was assigned a quest, Pixie Dust made sure to press a hastily-wrapped small package in his hand: a large, glittery Tinkerbell key chain and a note in a child’s scrawling handwriting: ‘Remember, a little fairy magic always makes everything okay.’ While she watched, he clipped it onto his bag, mentally resolved to remove it at the first opportunity. Somehow, though, he never remembered to, and after all the disasters both it and he managed to survive during the trip and against all odds, he decided to leave it.

In a world of gods and monsters, what did a little superstition hurt, in the end?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled for inspiration this week, TBH, so decided to take a stab at an idea my roommate and I joked about years ago, all based around the notion of a little girl getting the idea in her mind that winged shoes need winged socks to work right.


	3. With a Bang

Things had been calm, these last few months (at least, there hadn’t been any ‘end-of-the-world’/‘this-evil-ghost-is-trying-to-be-a-god’ level threats—just your average, run of the mill ‘that-monster-should-probably-be-stopped-before-it-eats-somebody’ sort of thing) and the residents of Brooklyn House had actually managed to find and settle into a sort of routine (gasp!).

The end of the school year _had_ thrown that routine off a little as summer break began, but Carter, Sadie, and the others soon found their rhythm again. It was a bit strange at first, not having to run ahead of some deadline in order to keep the world form dissolving into the Sea of Chaos—and while the break was nice, at first, having close to two dozen bored, magically-gifted children and teenagers in a single mansion was probably a recipe for disaster sooner or later, anyway.

* * *

Most of the trainees blamed the fiasco on Sadie’s love of the big and the flashy and the loud, while Sadie maintained that _Carter_ was at fault for his desire to outdo the stories one Percy Jackson had told him (despite their alliance, Carter still occasionally found himself trying to one-up the demigod), and carter insisted that he would’ve been content to let it all slide if the son of Poseidon hadn’t kept going on an _on_ about how the Hephaestus kids’ 4th-of-July fireworks put all other displays to shame. (Percy, not being present, was not able to foist the blame onto somebody else, or argue that he had not boasted quite as much as some may have reported…)

But whatever the cause and whoever instigated it, the resulting show was most certainly…impressive, in its way…

The principle was simple—and even sound: Divine Words could be ‘stored’ in hieroglyph form that could be suspended in air and detonated after a stretch of time, at a certain trigger, when disturbed…or when the magician was sufficiently distracted...to a variety of effects that were quite showy. How hard could it _really_ be to build on that notion to create some awesome fireworks?

The idea soon caught on, spreading through Brooklyn House as most initiates began playing with the idea, at first to see if they _could_ , but then to see if they could make something that outdid the efforts of everyone else—something bigger, louder, more bizarre, flashier, etc.

(In hindsight, the fact that even the magically-protected mansion barely survived the weeks of experimentation _really_ should’ve been sufficient warning as to what may come, but the Kanes are nothing if not stubborn, and the longer it went on, the more everyone wanted to see the final results.

* * *

And so, as the entirety of Brooklyn House gathered on the balcony, feasting on the variety of barbecues meats, corn on the cob, and fresh watermelon (plus whatever local and family traditions the initiates from the States has suggested/requested to the ever-receptive magical table, while those form further abroad took note and mentally began composing menus for their own holidays, ready to bring them up when the opportunity arose), the first glyph was released prematurely.

Afterwards, no one could say _who_ had lapsed their concentration enough to trigger the first blast, as before it had even finished going off, the detonation caused a chain-reaction that resulted in a cacophonous blast of magic as the other dozen or so purposefully potent glyphs burst at once.

A few glimpses that could just be caught revealed the handiwork of certain craftsman: that veritable blizzard surely came from Felix, the sandstorm of what looked like gem shards was _definitely_ Alyssa’s, and whichever one left the air smelling thickly of vanilla (Like the infirmary) was possibly Jaz’s—but most finer details, so carefully prepared, were lost in the noise and the heat and the light.

It was several minutes before the magicians on the balcony could see again, much less hear (and those closest to the blast _swore_ that their hair hand stood on end, cartoon-style, for the rest of the night). When they did, wailing sirens, shouting voices, banging doors and windows, and clamoring animals drowned out every distant (normal) fireworks display—though what the mortals had seen in the rampant display of magic could only be magic.

Carter and Sadie exchanged a glance, shoulder slumping nearly in unison.

“Sewer gas explosion?”

“Probably. Two more, and we’ll have a nice round dozen.”

“Let’s not try too hard for that.”

“Oh, if we _tried_ I’m sure we could hit twenty before the year’s over.”

“Sadie…”

“Kidding, kidding. …But…”

“No.”


	4. Dangerous Discoveries…

In the days of the war against Apophis, it was not unusual for new arrivals to Brooklyn House to come with little more than a hastily-packed duffel and the clothes on their back. In the peace that followed, new initiates often came with a little more (some mementos and things that would help them feel a little more at home, as well as their necessities).

In hindsight, the newest girl’s collection of a few, well-worn fantasy books and miniatures should have been a hint as to what would come…

As Nikki, the 14-year-old with the immediate and obvious affinity for Isis’ path of divine magic, settled in, she was almost immediately fascinated by Felix’s ever-present procession of penguins. But rather than simply stare and wonder (as so many of them did), she approached the younger, more experienced magician directly…with a list of in-depth technical questions.

Did he summon them, or make them? If they were animated constructs, did he have to manually (or magically) create the physical form first before bringing them to life? If so, did the materials he used have any affect on the resulting creature at all? Or were the creation and animation all part of a single spell?

Felix was _delighted_ that someone was finally displaying proper professional interest in his particular proclivity, unfortunately, his exploration of magic had always been guided predominately by instinct and feeling, so he wasn’t always able to articulate a technical answer to Nikki’s questions. Not that it mattered—he was always happy to demonstrate for her observation, or experiment alongside her, and the two often could be found trying and combining various approaches and processes, muttering about some secret plan while Nikki took detailed notes.

From there, the two came to Alyssa with several pictures and miniature models, wondering if she could lend her skills (and magic) with earth and clay to their project. The potter blanched at first, until the pair clarified the size and scale they were picturing and found just the _right_ images to ignite her artistic drive. It was a quick enough process after that, thanks to her magic, but the three took extra time, determined not to move on to the next step until the design was _exactly_ what they wanted. (Nikki was _ecstatic_ when Alyssa showed and offered to use a glaze that—when fired—was a dark, iridescent shade of blue or purple, depending on the light.)

The final step after that lay with Nikki, and all the notes she and Felix had assembled.

* * *

Carter had to do a double-take the next morning as Nikki passed him in the living room, bound for breakfast. Perched on her left shoulder was an honest-to-the-gods _dragon_ the size of a small parrot, with glittering dark scales.

As he watched, the creature turned back to him with an expression that could only be called a friendly smirk, before launching itself into the air, flying a small circle over Nikki’s head, then settling back into its place—dashing his final hope that it had been nothing but a toy.

He looked at the few initiates around him, then at the assembled crowd on the balcony, heart sinking as he spotted an eager gleam in more than a few eyes.

_*I need to stop this before we have an absolute and literal zoo on our hands…_

_…But that is a really cool dragon!*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more magical shenanigans time! Not sure what to say other than…yes, that is a shameless younger-me self-insert, because good LORD if I live dint hat universe and had access to that magic, I’d try to figure out how to make a pet dragon. I still would!


	5. Blood and Bones (And Chocolate)

To be honest, Magnus almost didn’t notice the decorations, at first. Hotel Valhalla had its own…unique…aesthetic, after all, and with all the torches, weapons, ravens, and wolves about, a little extra ‘spooky black and orange (with bonus bones and blood)’ didn’t _immediately_ jump out at him.

It was the witch’s hat on a stuffed bear’s head in one of the dinging lounges that finally made things click.

“What’s the Norse afterlife doing with all the Halloween décor?” he asked the room in general.

Halfborn was only too happy to answer, taking on his ‘wise and knowing instructor’ tone. “Magnus, the various festivals and holy days that would eventually become what you know as Halloween are as ancient as they were widespread. And don’t forget, these halls are not limited to those who followed, venerated, or were descended from the Norse gods. Many of the fallen lived their lives steeped in traditions and cultures of their home—why should they not keep celebrating them? Sharing them? You’ll find nearly any holiday and celebration you can think of here—and quite a few you’ve never heard of before!”

Alex gave him a long, level look. “In other words, any excuse for drunken revelry is a good one?”

“You got it!” Halfborn roared, laughing. (He always sounded more like himself that way—‘Professor Gunderson’ had never _stopped_ sounding wrong to Magnus’ ears, PHD or no.)

TJ finally spoke up, leaning back in his chair. “There’s the Costume Battle, too—that’s pretty fun. Never was a fan of the halls that did group or themed costumes, though. I personally prefer the individual creative approach.”

“I prefer Trick or Treat to the Death,” Mallory offered, fiddling with her ever-present knives, “Half the halls get assigned to ‘host’, the other half walk. Trick or Treaters fight the Hosts, and the survivors get the loser’s candy stash. And, of course, you can always ambush each other to get _their_ shares, too. Last one standing pretty much gets it all.”

“Alliances made and broken faster than at an all-girl middle school,” Samirah muttered, half-grinning, “and twice as entertaining, I’m sure. I’m looking forward to the stories of your glorious triumphs…and bloody deaths.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to aim that last part at me!”

Sam feigned indifference, but she was smirking. “I don’t know what you mean, Magnus.”

“Yeah, not everything’s about _you_ ,” Alex cut in to continue the teasing.

As the five dead (and one living) teens all made fun of each other (well, Magnus), sitting in the impossible hotel that housed thousands upon thousands of the dead elite warriors of the gods, as the conversation drifted into a discussion of who planned to dress as what and how they panned to do so, it almost felt like something so everyday, so valuable in its taste of normalcy…

…until the discussion turned to the practical concerns of in-costume mobility and the ability to conceal (or not) weapons. This _was_ Hotel Valhalla, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I saw that Halloween was on a Saturday this year, I knew I had to do a special fic. I thought it might be fun to play with how Magnus and friends would celebrate Halloween in Hotel Valhalla. Went through a couple of ideas before I settle don this one…well, I hope you like it!


	6. Get Creative

If there was anything that Magnus Chase had learned after he died, it was that appearances were usually deceiving—especially when it came to things like threat-levels. And no place in all the worlds embodied that truth _quite_ like Hotel Valhalla.

As crowded a place as it was, there was _no_ way one could get to know more than a handful of the other einherjar that weren’t on one’s hall, at least in the first few decades. Still, one could and did come to recognize some prominent figures on sight, at least and stories did spread…

“Am I going crazy—”

“Probably,” Alex chirped without even looking up from the lunch table as Magnus entered the room—revived from that morning’s battle just in time to eat.

Ignoring the interruption, Magnus took the seat next to Alex and stole a piece of bacon before continuing. “—or did I get killed by a _crochet hook_?”

It wasn’t the first time that he’d noted an odd choice of weapon on the mass battlefield, but it _was_ a little hard to forget being stabbed in the throat by a normally-blunt crafting implement.

“Antonia Marshstead,” Halfborn supplied without showing much in the way of surprise or concern. “Crazy Crafter of Hall 77.”

It wasn’t hard to picture how _that_ name had come about. Still: “A _crochet_ hook?”

TJ frowned. “Yeah, I thought that’s what she used on Thursdays. Today is Monday, right?”

“Crochet is twice a week,” Mallory jumped in. “Tuesday and Wednesday are the sewing scissors and the seam ripper. I think she’s picked up knitting, too….”

“Sundays,” Halfborn supplied.

“Right, but she doesn’t lead that one—just the crocheting, sewing, and embroidery groups.”

Magnus blinked once, twice, as his brain tried to catch up. “So, she uses a different crafting tool as a weapon depending on what hobby group she has later that day?”

“Gotta admit, that’s _one_ way of keeping the schedule straight,” Alex pointed out. “And I personally, can’t fault the theme, given my weapon of choice…”

Okay, that _was_ a good point. But still… “At least _yours_ is a sharp wire—and magic.”

TJ smirked. “I think hers might be magic, too. Either way, Antonia’s always been one for _creative_ repurposing. Story goes she died when some monsters attacked her at a yarn shop and she killed one of them by stuffing a ball of yarn down its throat and choking it.”

“She got the one that finally killed her in the eye with one of those giant straight pins before it took her down,” Mallory added, the vaguest tone of…approval in her voice. “We were a little surprised to find out that Freya was her mom, but then we weren’t.”

“Freya does like beautiful things and brave fighters, plus her domain _does_ overlap somewhat with weaving, so other thread craft isn’t _too_ great a stretch,” Halfborn explained helpfully.

Alex snorted, apparently unable to resist a lighthearted jab: “Magnus, I swear: _all_ of your cousins are more bad-ass than you.”

“You’ve met _two_ : Blitz and Annabeth. Three if you’re counting Antonia now.”

“You didn’t refute my point.”

“Hey, Blitz and Annabeth have saved my life more times than I can count. And given that the latest ‘family reunion’ just ended with a G Hook in my windpipe, that’s not looking so good either.”

(Eh, he didn’t really mind. But he did wonder…was her crochet group accepting any new members? He’d been meaning to pick up a hobby for a while, now…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely sure where the idea for this one came from…though I HAVE been doing a lot of crafting in the last few weeks… (and may be more than a little over-tired from my new job, the holidays, moving, and taking on maybe too many writing projects…) 
> 
> Well, with this silly story, I wrap up yet another one of my ficlet series in my ‘write-one-fic-a-week’ challenge. I’m honestly surprised I made it this far, and now that the end is in sight, I’m super excited! Thank you to everyone who stopped in, even for one chapter or a passing glance. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
